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President
Activities and Games for Elementary Students
Biography of Abraham Lincoln

Chapter VII. Lincoln and the War

It is one thing to be elected President
of the United States,--
that means triumph, honor, power: it is quite another thing
to
perform the duties of President,--for that means labor,
disappointment, difficulty, even danger. Many a man envied
Abraham Lincoln when, in the stately pomp of inauguration and
with the plaudits of the spectators ringing about him, he took
the oath of office which for four years transforms an American
citizen into the ruler of these United States. Such envy would
have been changed to deepest sympathy if they could have known
what lay before him. After the music and cannon were dumb,
after
the flags were all furled and the cheering crowds had vanished,
the shadows of war fell about the Executive Mansion, and its
new
occupant remained face to face with his heavy task--a task
which,
as he had truly said in his speech at Springfield, was greater
than that which rested upon Washington.

Then, as never before, he must have
realized the peril of the
nation, with its credit gone, its laws defied, its flag insulted.
The South had carried out its threat, and seven million Americans
were in revolt against the idea that "all men are created
equal,"
while twenty million other Americans were bent upon defending
that idea. For the moment both sides had paused to see how
the
new President would treat this attempt at secession. It must
be
constantly borne in mind that the rebellion in the Southern
States with which Mr. Lincoln had to deal was not a sudden
revolution, but a conspiracy of slow growth and long planning.
As
one of its actors frankly admitted, it was "not an event
of a
day. It is not anything produced by Mr. Lincoln's election.
. . .
It is a matter which has been gathering head for thirty years."
Its main object, it must also be remembered, was the spread
of
slavery. Alexander H. Stephens, in a speech made shortly after
he
became the Confederate Vice-President, openly proclaimed slavery
to be the "corner-stone" of the new government. For
years it had
been the dream of southern leaders to make the Ohio River the
northern boundary of a great slave empire, with everything
lying
to the south of that, even the countries of South and Central
America, as parts of their system. Though this dream was never
to
be realized, the Confederacy finally came to number eleven
States
(Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, South Carolina, North Carolina,
Florida, Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia),
and
to cover a territory of more than 750,000 square miles--larger
than England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Spain, Germany and
Switzerland put together, with a coast line 3,500 miles long,
and
a land frontier of over 7,000 miles.

President Buchanan's timidity and
want of spirit had alone made
this great rebellion possible, for although it had been "gathering head for thirty years" it
was only within the last few
months that it had come to acts of open treason and rebellion.
President Buchanan had opportunity and ample power to crush
it
when the conspirators first began to show their hands. Instead
he
wavered, and delayed, while they grew bold under his lack of
decision, imagining that they would have a bloodless victory,
and
even boasting that they would take Washington for their capital;
or, if the new President should thwart them and make them fight,
that they would capture Philadelphia and dictate the peace
they
wanted from Independence Hall.

By the time Mr. Lincoln came into office the conspiracy had
grown
beyond control by any means then in the hands of a President,
though men on both sides still vainly hoped that the troubles
of
the country might be settled without fighting. Mr. Lincoln
especially wished to make very sure that if it ever came to
a
matter of war, the fault should not lie with the North.

In his inaugural address he had told
the South that he would use
the power confided to him to hold and occupy the places belonging
to the Government, and to collect the taxes; but beyond what
might be necessary for these objects, he would not use force
among the people anywhere. His peaceful policy was already
harder
to follow than he realized. Before he had been President
twenty-four hours word came from Major Anderson, still defying
the conspirators from Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor, that
his
little garrison was short of food, and must speedily surrender
unless help reached them. The rebels had for weeks been building
batteries to attack the fort, and with Anderson's report came
the
written opinions of his officers that it would require an Army of
20,000 men to relieve it. They might as well have asked for
twenty thousand archangels, for at that time the entire Army of
the United States numbered but 17,113 men, and these were doing
duty, not only in the Southern and Eastern States, but were
protecting settlers from Indians on the great western frontier,
and guarding the long Canadian and Mexican boundaries as well.
Yet Anderson and his men could not be left to their fate without
even an attempt to help them, though some of the high military
and naval officers hastily called into council by the new
President advised this course. It was finally decided to notify
the Confederates that a ship carrying food, but no soldiers,
would be sent to his relief. If they chose to fire upon that
it
would be plainly the South, and not the North, that began the
war.

Days went on, and by the middle of
April the Confederate government found itself forced to a
fatal choice. Either it must
begin war, or allow the rebellion to collapse. All its claims
to
independence were denied; the commissioner it sent to Washington
on the pretense that they were agents of a foreign country
were
politely refused a hearing, yet not one angry word, or provoking
threat, or a single harmful act had come from the "Black
Republican" President. In his inaugural he had promised
the
people of the South peace and protection, and offered them
the
benefit of the mails. Even now, all he proposed to do was to
send
bread to Anderson and his hungry soldiers. His prudent policy
placed them where, as he had told them, they could have no
war
unless they themselves chose to begin it.

They did choose to begin it. The rebellion was the work of
ambitious men, who had no mind to stop at that late day and
see
their labor go for nothing. The officer in charge of their
batteries was ordered to open fire on Fort Sumter if Anderson
refused to surrender; and in the dim light of dawn on April
12,
1861, just as the outline of Fort Sumter began to show itself
against a brightening sky, the shot that opened the Civil War
rose from a rebel battery and made its slow and graceful curve
upon Sumter. Soon all the batteries were in action, and the
fort
was replying with a will. Anderson held out for a day and a
half,
until his cartridges were all used up, his flagstaff had been
shot away, and the wooden buildings inside the fort were on
fire.
Then, as the ships with supplies had not yet arrived, and he
had
neither food nor ammunition, he was forced to surrender.

The news of the firing upon Fort
Sumter changed the mood of the
country as if by magic. By deliberate act of the Confederate
government its attempt at peaceable secession had been changed
to
active war. The Confederates gained Fort Sumter, but in doing
so
they roused the patriotism of the North to a firm resolve that
this insult to the flag should be redressed, and that the
unrighteous experiment of a rival government founded upon slavery
as its "cornerstone," should never succeed. In one
of his
speeches on the journey to Washington Mr. Lincoln had said
that
devoted as he was to peace, it might become necessary to "put
the
foot down firmly." That time had now come. On April 15,
the day
after the fall of Fort Sumter, all the newspapers of the country
printed the President's call to arms, ordering out 75,000 militia
for three months, and directing Congress to meet in special
session on July 4, 1861. The North rallied instantly to the
support of the Government, and offered him twice the number
of
soldiers he asked for.

Nothing more clearly shows the difference
between President Lincoln and President Buchanan than the
way in which the two men
met the acts of the Southern Rebellion. President Buchanan
temporized and delayed when he had plenty of power. President
Lincoln, without a moment's hesitation accepted the great and
unusual responsibility thrust upon him, and at once issued
orders
for buying ships, moving troops, advancing money to Committees
of
Safety, and for other military and naval measures for which
at
the moment he had no express authority from Congress. As soon
as
Congress came together on July 4, he sent a message explaining
his action, saying: "It became necessary for me to choose
whether, using only the existing means . . . . which Congress
had
provided, I should let the Government fall at once into ruin,
or
whether availing myself of the broader powers conferred by
the
Constitution in cases of insurrection, I would make an effort
to
save it with all its blessings for the present age and for
posterity." Congress, it is needless to say, not only
approved
all that he had done, but gave him practically unlimited powers
for dealing with the rebellion in future.

It soon became evident that no matter how ready and willing
to
fight for their country the 75,000 volunteers might be, they
could not hope to put down the rebellion, because the time
for
which they had enlisted would be almost over before they could
receive the training necessary to change them from valiant
citizens into good soldiers. Another call was therefore issued,
this time for men to serve three years or during the war, and
also for a large number of sailors to man the new ships that
the
Government was straining every nerve to buy, build and otherwise
make ready.

More important, however, than soldiers trained or untrained,
was
the united will of the people of the North; and most important
of
all the steadfast and courageous soul of the man called to
direct
the struggle. Abraham Lincoln, the poor frontier boy, the
struggling young lawyer, the Illinois politician, whom many,
even
among the Republicans who voted to elect him President, thought
scarcely fit to hold a much smaller office, proved beyond
question the man for the task gifted above all his associates
with wisdom and strength to meet the great emergencies as they
arose during the four years' war that had already begun.

Since this is the story of Mr. Lincoln's
life, and not of the
Civil War, we cannot attempt to follow the history of the long
contest as it unfolded itself day by day and month by month,
or
even to stop to recount a list of the great battles that drenched
the land in blood. It was a mighty struggle, fought by men
of the
same race and kindred, often by brother against brother. Each
fought for what he felt to be right; and their common inheritance
of courage and iron will, of endurance and splendid bravery
and
stubborn pluck, made this battle of brothers the more bitter
as
it was the more prolonged. It ranged over an immense extent
of
country; but because Washington was the capital of the Union,
and
Richmond, Virginia, the capital of the Confederacy, and the
desire of each side was to capture the chief city of the other,
the principal fighting ground, during the whole war, lay between
these two towns, with the Alleghany Mountains on the west,
and
Chesapeake Bay on the east. Between the Alleghanies and the
Mississippi River another field of warfare developed itself,
on
which some of the hardest battles were fought, and the greatest
victories won. Beyond the Mississippi again stretched another
great field, bounded only by the Rocky Mountains and the Rio
Grande. But the principal fighting in this field was near or
even
on the Mississippi, in the efforts made by both Unionists and
Confederates to keep and hold the great highway of the river,
so
necessary for trade in time of peace, and for moving armies
in
time of war.

On this immense battle-ground was fought one of the most costly
wars of modern times, with soldiers numbering a million men
on
each side; in which, counting battles and skirmishes small
and
great, an average of two engagements a day were fought for
four
long years, two millions of money were used up every twenty-four
hours, and during which the unholy prize of slavery, for which
the Confederate States did battle, was completely swept away.

Though the tide of battle ebbed and flowed, defeat and victory
may be said to have been nearly evenly divided. Generally
speaking, success was more often on the side of the South during
the first half of the war; with the North, during the latter
half. The armies were equally brave; the North had the greater
territory from which to draw supplies; and the end came, not
when
one side had beaten the other, man for man, but when the South
had been drained of fighting men and food and guns, and slavery
had perished in the stress of war.

Fortunately for all, nobody at the beginning dreamed of the
length of the struggle. Even Lincoln's stout heart would have
been dismayed if he could have foreseen all that lay before
him.
The task that he could see was hard and perplexing enough.
Everything in Washington was in confusion. No President ever
had
such an increase of official work as Lincoln during the early
months of his administration. The halls and ante-rooms of the
Executive Mansion were literally crowded with people seeking
appointment to office; and the new appointments that were
absolutely necessary were not half finished when the firing
on
Fort Sumter began active war. This added to the difficulty
of
sifting the loyal from the disloyal, and the yet more pressing
labor of organizing an immense new Army .

Hundreds of clerks employed in the Government Departments
left
their desks and hurried South, crippling the service just at
the
time when the sudden increase of work made their presence doubly
needed. A large proportion of the officers of the Army and
Navy,
perhaps as many as one-third, gave their skill and services
to
the Confederacy, feeling that their allegiance was due to their
State or section rather than to the general government. Prominent
among these was Robert E. Lee, who had been made a colonel
by
Lincoln, and whom General Scott had recommended as the most
promising officer to command the new force of 75,000 men called
out by the President's proclamation. He chose instead to resign
and cast his fortunes with the South, where he became the head
of
all the Confederate armies. The loss to the Union and gain
to the
Confederate cause by his action is hard to measure, since in
him
the Southern armies found a commander whose surpassing courage
and skill inspired its soldiers long after all hope of success
was gone. Cases such as this gave the President more anxiety
than
all else. It seemed impossible to know whom to trust. An officer
might come to him in the morning protesting devotion to the
Union, and by night be gone to the South. Mr. Lincoln used
to say
at this time that he felt like a man letting rooms at one end
of
his house while the other end was on fire.

The situation grew steadily worse.
Maryland refused to allow United States soldiers to cross
her territory, and the first attempt to bring troops through
Baltimore from the North ended in
a bloody riot, and the burning of railroad bridges to prevent
help from reaching Washington. For three days Washington was
entirely cut off from the North, either by telegraph or mail.
General Scott hastily prepared the city for a siege, taking
possession of all the large supplies of flour and provisions
in
town, and causing the Capitol and other public buildings to
be
barricaded. Though President Lincoln did not doubt the final
arrival of help, he, like everyone else, was very anxious,
and
found it hard to understand the long delay. He knew that troops
had started from the North. Why did they not arrive? They might
not be able to go through Baltimore, but they could certainly
go
around it. The distance was not great. What if twenty miles
of
railroad had been destroyed, were the soldiers unable to march?
Always calm and self-controlled, he gave no sign in the presence
of others of the anxiety that weighed so heavily upon him.
Very
likely the visitors who saw him during those days thought that
he
hardly realized the plight of the city; yet an inmate of the
White House, passing through the President's office when the
day's work was done and he imagined himself alone, saw him
pause
in his absorbed walk up and down the floor, and gaze long out
of
the window in the direction from which the troops were expected
to appear. Then, unconscious of any hearer, and as if the words
were wrung from him by anguish, he exclaimed, "Why don't
they
come, why don't they come

The New York Seventh Regiment was
the first to "come." By
a
roundabout route it reached Washington on the morning of April
25, and, weary and travel-worn, but with banners flying and
music
playing, marched up Pennsylvania Avenue to the big white
Executive Mansion, bringing cheer to the President and renewed
courage to those timid citizens whose fright during this time
had
almost paralyzed the life of the town. Taking renewed courage
they once more opened their houses and the shops that had been
closed since the beginning of the blockade, and business began
anew.

The greater part of the three months' regiments had been ordered
to Washington, and the outskirts of the capital soon became
a
busy military camp. The great Departments of the Government,
especially of War and Navy, could not immediately handle the
details of all this sudden increase of work. Men were
volunteering rapidly enough, but there was sore need of rations
to feed them, money to pay them, tents to shelter them, uniforms
to clothe them, rifles to arm them, officers to drill them,
and
of transportation to carry them to the camps of instruction
where
they must receive their training and await further orders.
In
this carnival of patriotism and hurly-burly of organization
the
weaknesses as well as the virtues of human nature quickly showed
themselves; and, as if the new President had not already enough
to distress and harass his mind, almost every case of confusion
and delay was brought to him for complaint and correction.
On him
also fell the delicate and serious task of deciding hundreds
of
novel questions as to what he and his cabinet ministers had
and
had not the right to do under the Constitution.

The month of May slipped away in all these preparatory vexations;
but the great machine of war, once started, moved on as it
always
does, from arming to massing of troops, and from that to skirmish
and battle. In June small fights began to occur between the
Union
and Confederate armies. The first large battle of the war took
place at Bull Run, about thirty-two miles southwest of
Washington, on July 21, 1861. It ended in a victory for the
Confederates, though their Army was so badly crippled by. its
losses that it made no further forward movement during the
whole
of the next autumn and winter.

The shock of this defeat was deep
and painful to the people of
the North, not yet schooled to patience, or to the uncertainties
of war. For weeks the newspapers, confident of success, had
been
clamoring for action, and the cry, "Forward to Richmond," had
been heard on every hand. At first the people would not believe
the story of a defeat; but it was only too true. By night the
beaten Union troops were pouring into the fortifications around
Washington, and the next day a horde of stragglers found their
way across the bridges of the Potomac into the city.

President Lincoln received the news quietly, as was his habit,
without any visible sign of distress or alarm, but he remained
awake and in his office all that Sunday night, listening to
the
excited tales of congressmen and senators who, with undue
curiosity, had followed the Army and witnessed some of the
sights
and sounds of battle; and by dawn on Monday he had practically
made up his mind as to the probable result and what he must
do in
consequence.

The loss of the battle of Bull Run
was a bitter disappointment to
him. He saw that the North was not to have the easy victory
it
anticipated; and to him personally it brought a great and added
care that never left him during the war. Up to that time the
North had stood by him as one man in its eager resolve to put
down the rebellion. From this time on, though quite as
determined, there was division and disagreement among the people
as to how this could best be done. Parties formed themselves
for
or against this or that general, or in favor of this or that
method and no other of carrying on the war. In other words,
the
President and his "administration"--the cabinet and
other
officers under him--became, from this time on, the target of
criticism for all the failures of the Union armies, and for
all
the accidents and mistakes and unforeseen delays of war. The
self-control that Mr. Lincoln had learned in the hard school
of
his boyhood, and practised during all the long struggle of
his
young manhood, had been severe and bitter training, but nothing
else could have prepared him for the great disappointments
and
trials of the crowning years of his life. He had learned to
endure patiently, to reason calmly, never to be unduly sure
of
his own opinion; but, having taken counsel of the best advice
at
his command, to continue in the path that he felt to be right,
regardless of criticism or unjust abuse. He had daily and hourly
to do all this. He was strong and courageous, with a steadfast
belief that the right would triumph in the end; but his nature
was at the same time sensitive and tender, and the sorrows
and
pain of others hurt him more than did his own.